The Keronian Case
by GiroGirl723
Summary: Set three years after The Reichenbach Fall. John has been mourning Sherlock ever since his death, and feels like his life will never feel exciting again. But when he receives a call from a supposed Moriarty, John finds himself having to relive events from The Great Game. Stranger still, what happens when Sherlock comes back and Natsumi joins the team? Rated for brief sexual ref.
1. At It Again

_A/N: So here you go, guys. Another fanfiction that'll probably never get finished. Anyway, recently GoddessOfOlympus got me into a marvelous show on BBC by the name of Sherlock. So amazing, and now I am totally shipping Johnlock, so I've decided to write this little number. Enjoy! Set three years after The Reichenbach Fall. Modified slightly due to a little error GoddessOfOlympus pointed out._

1

_At It Again_

John Watson once again began his long trek to the grave of Sherlock Holmes. The few others who had originally paid their respects had quickly dwindled in size until none were bothered with the task any more, and who could blame them? To the rest of the world, Sherlock was a fake, a fraud. But John knew better, and so he returned faithfully every Saturday.

"Three years, huh?" he murmured as he walked up to the shiny black tombstone. "Three years since… well." John paused. "Sherlock, you have no idea how bloody _boring_ it is without you. Nothing happens anymore. I never… never thought I'd find myself saying this, but I miss it. I miss the chases, the random experiments and body parts in the fridge, that _awful_ violin, everything. I miss you. I miss the way you steepled your hands when you were thinking, I miss the way your eyes lit up when you had an interesting case, I miss your endless boredom, I even miss how you left the rest of us confused and in the dust when you were analyzing something. God, Sherlock, I miss everything about you and part of me is still wondering when you'll _bloody come back_. You have no idea-"

And then John's phone rang. Letting out a long sigh, he pulled it out.

_"H-hello,"_ a girl's gasping voice came out, sounding choked, forced, and about to cry. She didn't sound like a child, but still fairly young- maybe eighteen or nineteen at the most.

"What's wrong?" John asked, instantly alarmed.

_"I found another… mouthpiece,"_ the girl gasped out. _"If you wish for her to live, you will do exactly as I ask."_

"Oh dear God," John realized. "We've got another Moriarty."

_"Of… course,"_ the girl said. _"Let's see if… you're as smart… as Sherlock Holmes was."_

John tensed. "Why not just talk to me yourself? I know who you are now."

_"No… you don't. Besides, m-maybe you get a thrill out of… the chase, the same way… he did. Maybe… you d-don't have a heart, either."_

"Sherlock had a heart, and you know it!" John yelled.

_"No he didn't. He a-admitted it h-himself, right before he jumped-"_

"SHUT UP! SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP! John screamed.

He could almost see the girl trembling on the other end of the line. _"I-if you have a heart… pay attention. Th-this girl has a family… and friends. G-granted, interesting friends-"_ At this point the girl's tone changed, and she was suddenly no longer talking to John. _"How do you know about that?!"_ she sobbed, and John was sure those were her own words.

There was a brief silence. Then, the girl was clearly being fed words again. _"A-as I was saying, this girl has people who care about her. So I… leave you with this clue." _

Now John strained to hear the girl's voice. _"Shattered… crystals. 1986."_ Her voice broke, and the next words came out in racking sobs. _"You have… three hours. G-go."_ Then the line cut.

"Dear God," John breathed. "Four hours. How can I do this alone?" He slowly sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands. "Dear God, Sherlock, what have we done?"

Back at the flat, John paced. And paced. And paced. "How can crystals shatter? How? It doesn't make any sense!" More pacing. He went on like this for over a half an hour, well aware that time was ticking by and becoming all the more agitated. Finally, he plopped down at the desk and flipped open his laptop. Pulling up Google, he typed in, _crystal_.

He scrolled through endless results: stone-cutting companies, costume stores, quite a few for Jared and Kay, chandeliers, even a cruise line…

Wait.

Chandelier.

_Think, John, think. Chandelier. Chandelier. Why does that sound familiar? Chandelier, crystals. Chandelier, shattered crystals. Shattered crystals, chandelier._

"Remember, there are worse things than a shattered chandelier," he breathed out.

When John was sixteen, his parents had taken him to see _The Phantom of the Opera_ on Broadway when they had been extremely fortunate enough to go on a trip to the U.S. John had found it fantastic and tried to stow the memories in his mind, as they had been unable to afford t-shirts or even programs during the visit. And the line that stood out to John now was a line from the very beginning of Act 2 of _Phantom_. Suddenly, things started making sense to John. He felt absolutely _exhilarated_. _If this was how Sherlock felt when he figured something out, I don't really blame him for acting arrogant,_ John thought, then blinked as a sudden wave of grief washed over him. _Can't think about that now. Just can't. There's a teen's life at stake. I've got to help._

_Phantom of the Opera. Phantom of the Opera. That _has _to be the answer. But why would he put a date in, too?_

Turning his attention back to his laptop, John typed in _Phantom of the Opera, 1986._ The first thing that came up was, of course, Wikipedia, but John clicked on it anyway.

The Phantom of the Opera _is a musical with music by Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyrics by Charles Hart with additions from Richard Stilgoe. Lloyd Webber and Stilgoe also wrote the musical's book together. Based on the French novel Le Phantôme de l'Opéra by Gaston Leroux, its central plot revolves around a beautiful soprano, Christine Daaé, who becomes the obsession of a mysterious, disfigured musical genius._

"Yes, yes, we know," John muttered, not aware of how much like Sherlock he sounded at that moment in time. It was probably a good thing, too, considering how the thought of his former flatmate could often stop John Watson in his tracks. "We already know that." Scrolling down, he scanned for dates, which he right away spotted. _The musical opened in London's West End in 1986…_

"Yes, but _where?_" John asked himself. More scrolling. He stopped at a section entitled "West End" and stopped.

Phantom _began previews at Her Majesty's Theater in London's West End on 27 September 1986._

"Her Majesty's Theater. That's it," John breathed out in disbelief. "I can't believe I called that." Then he frowned, and looked up. "But it can't just be that easy, can it, Sherlock?" he said. "There's something more. There has to be."

Then his phone rang, and he picked it up in a flash to hear the girl's voice again. _ "G-good,"_ she choked out. _"Very… good. You can come… pick her up."_

John frowned. Definitely couldn't be this easy. But he had no choice. He retrieved his semi-automatic from the desk drawer and raced down the stairs and to the front door, grabbing his coat and shrugging it on. Dashing out onto Baker Street, he called, "Taxi!" and hopped in one the moment it had pulled up and stopped. "West End, Her Majesty's Theater. As fast as you can, please."


	2. The Return of Moriarty

_A/N: And in this chapter, you find out who the girl is! Well, it doesn't say her name, but as soon as you read the description of her physical appearance I'm sure you'll figure out who she is._

2

_The Return of Moriarty_

The taxi sped down the streets of London as John's hand nervously twitched over his gun. Things like this had been bad enough- frightening enough- with Sherlock by his side, but now he was over his head alone. He watched anxiously as the taxi passed block after block, John's trepidation growing all the while. Finally, he pulled up in front of the theater he needed, posters of _The Phantom of the Opera_ lining the outside. John quickly paid the cabbie, hopped out as fast as his limp would allow him (his psychosomatic injury had returned days after Sherlock had died) and scanned the area. No sign of a girl in distress anywhere.

He calmly approached the ticket stand and asked to have a look around, to which he received the reply, "We've got maintenance today. Four pounds, please."

John nodded and passed four one-pound notes to the ticket holder, then went inside, pretending to admire the beautiful architecture so as not to appear suspicious. Quietly, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. After a few rings, he heard a "Hello?"

"Inspector Lestrade, thank goodness," he breathed. "Moriarty's at it again."

"Moriarty killed himself, John," Lestrade replied, puzzled. "You know that. You saw it in the police reports. Are you sure you aren't-"

"I _know_, Greg," John hissed, frustrated. "But there is a _girl's life_ at stake. Come to Her Majesty's Theater ASAP." He promptly hung up the phone, uncaring of how rude he had been.

Entering the main auditorium, John scanned the stage and surrounding area. No sign of the girl. He sighed. If she wasn't here, he was going to have to do some serious breaking and entering.

"Could really use your help right about now, Sherlock," he whispered sadly before glancing around and then rushing towards the stage and then hopping on, running through the wings.

Finally, he reached the set room and poked his head in. Small whimpering came from behind the stairs for the masquerade scene, and John breathed a sigh of relief. "Where are you?" he said gently. "Tell me where you are, I'm here to help you."

"You really thought… it would be that easy," he heard her say, and John grew furious.

"Okay, look. I played your game, now let her go!" Rounding the set piece, he found a girl with pink hair in two neat pigtails, looking like she was naturally tan but now quite pale slumped up against the wall, clearly holding back tears as a laser pointer from a gun was aimed at the explosives strapped to her.

Suddenly, an unknown voice boomed out from somewhere in the room- John couldn't tell where, it seemed to echo and bounce off of every wall. "See, John, we've grown bored. Very bored. And we wanted to make things a little more interesting." He chuckled. "We were hoping that this girl's… friends would come and rescue her, but they didn't."

"They're not my friends!" the girl bellowed. "They're a bunch of idiots and I'm glad they're gone!"

"I highly doubt that," the voice said. "You thought fondly of them. Especially that… red one."

"STOP IT!" the girl screamed. "Okay, I admit it! I miss them! They left and I miss them! But that's none of your business. I'm not even sure how you know about them!"

By now they had lost John, but he was fairly used to the feeling. Pulling out his gun, he placed his finger on the trigger. "I don't know who you are, but you definitely aren't Moriarty. He's dead."

Another cold chuckle. "Ah, yes and no. The James Moriarty _you _knew is dead, but Moriarty is still very much alive."

John sucked in a deep breath of frustration. "Let her go, okay?"

"And why should I? James Moriarty said he liked to watch Sherlock Holmes 'dance'. Perhaps we enjoy seeing you struggle as well." Now a tall man rushed out, wrapped an arm around the girl's neck, and held another gun to her head.

The girl's eyes narrowed, and without warning she brought her elbow behind and slammed it into the man's face, kicking him in the groin at the same time. The man let out a groan of pain and released his hold on her as she ripped the sweatshirt she was wearing off, sending the explosives with it. She curled both her hands around each other to form a fist and slammed it down on the man's head. He collapsed, and she instantly got into a fighting stance. "I might not have been able to take you alone, but with a second person I've got an advantage," she snarled.

John blinked rapidly. This girl was probably still in her late teens and yet she was taking down grown men like she did it daily. "A gun," she said frantically to John.

"What?!"

"Pass me a gun!"

John faltered. "Are you sure you know how to-"

"Here."

A revolver came sailing through the air and the girl caught it with ease. John whirled around to find the source. He knew that voice, but it was simply impossible that-

But the proof was right in front of him.

"Hello, Sherlock," John whispered.


	3. An Old Friend

_A/N: Here you go!_

3

_An Old Friend_

Sherlock smirked. "Been a long time, eh, John?"

John simply stared. "Y-you…" He slowly walked up to Sherlock, examined him for a second… and then punched him square in the nose. "You bloody IDIOT!" he bellowed. "You SELFISH LITTLE GIT!"

Sherlock staggered back. After a second, he let out a low chuckle. "Good to see you too, John. But I do believe we have some business to finish before we finish the happy reunion."

Turning towards the girl, he nodded. "Sherlock Holmes."

"I figured," she replied. "Natsumi Hinata."

"Japanese?"

"Yeah. Nice on the name origin guess."

"Oh, it wasn't a guess," he replied smugly with a smirk. "John, stop trying to have a row with me and pay attention to the situation!"

John nodded shakily. "Right." Pulling the gun back up, he hesitantly walked up to the girl- Natsumi- side by side with Sherlock before spinning so the three had their backs pressed together.

"I miss doing this with Giroro," Natsumi whispered.

"Who?" John asked.

"Nobody."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything more on the matter. John scanned the room, looking for any sign of movement. He heard footsteps running down the hall, and then the police burst into the room, DI Lestrade in the middle of the group. He instantly went slack-jawed. "Sh-sherlock?" he gasped.

"I can explain later. For now, let's get this girl safe and checked over."

John smiled. People could say what they wanted, Sherlock Holmes did have a heart.

After Natsumi had been checked to see she was unharmed, the matter came as to where she would stay. Since she lived in Japan- halfway around the world- she clearly couldn't be sent home right away.

"You do realize that there's still trouble out there," Sherlock said to John. "Moriarty's on the move again. And I thought I had hunted them all down. This isn't good. This definitely isn't good."

"Wait- hunted them down? And what do you mean, Moriarty's on the move? Isn't he dead?"

"Yes and no," Sherlock replied. "James Moriarty's dead, but it appears his followers have formed a network they've named after him."

Chills ran down John's spine. "Just lovely." Then he paused. "One more question: why did you jump off that building? And how did you survive?"

Sherlock sucked in a breath. "Moriarty had hit men stationed to kill you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. The only way I could save you was to jump, make them believe I was dead. And then I had to hunt down Moriarty's men, make sure they posed no threat before I returned. But-" Here he sucked in a breath. "Apparently there are still some out there." He seemed peeved to admit he had failed at something. "I'm sorry, John. For losing some of Moriarty's men, for having you believe I was dead all this time, for just showing up again. I'm sorry for everything."

"Three years, Sherlock," John hissed angrily. "Three years, and you think you can make up for it with 'sorry'?"

Sherlock sighed. "We can talk about this back at the flat." Spinning around, he approached where the police and medics were talking with Natsumi.

"Can I call my mom?" she was asking.

"Of course," Lestrade replied. "But if you don't mind putting it on speaker, so that we can ask her a few questions." He passed her his phone, and she quickly dialed a number.

_"Kon'nichiwa, hinata no jūkyo,"_ a weary voice said on the other end.

"Fuyuki! It's Natsumi. By the way, you might want to talk in English."

A gasp on the other end. _"Nee-chan!? Oh thank god, where are you?! We've been scared to death! When your college called and told us you'd gone missing-"_

"Can you get Mama?"

_"Of course. Hang on. Mama! Mama! It's Natsumi!"_

John heard the faint sound of running feet on the other end as he approached the crowd. Then,

_"Oh my god, Natsumi! Sweetie, are you okay?"_ a motherly voice exclaimed on the other end. _"Where are you?!"_

"Calm down, Mama. I'm fine, I'm in London, I'm with the police, I'm fine."

_"What happened?!"_

"Ma'am, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade. May I explain and ask you a few questions? I assure you, Natsumi is fine."

_"Sure. Of course."_

Lestrade gently took the phone from Natsumi and turned speaker off. He began speaking slowly and reassuringly until finally, he said, "Yes. Yes. Okay. Thank you so much, ma'am." He handed the phone back to Natsumi.

"_E, ē, watashi wa shitte iru_," Natsumi said in Japanese. "_Sate, sugu ni anata o sanshō shite kudasai._" She gave a weak smile and hung up before passing the phone back to Lestrade. "Mom said it was fine for you all and me to decide where I'm staying."

Suddenly, John blurted out, "Mrs. Hudson has an empty flat above ours that Natsumi might be able to stay in." Now that there was no idea as to who was in Moriarty, he felt very uneasy leaving this girl with someone else. "Here, let me call her."

"John-" Lestrade began.

"Please, just give me a moment."

Lestrade reluctantly nodded as John pulled out his own phone and dialed Mrs. Hudson's number. "Hello? Mrs. Hudson?"

_"Oh! John, dear, what-"_

"A girl's been kidnapped. We just got her into custody. Is it okay if she stays at 221c tonight?"

Mrs. Hudson made a quiet sound of pity. _"Of course, tell her she's quite welcome. Oh, and I have some things from when my daughter was her age. She can borrow those until we can get her some clothes of her own."_

John nodded. "Thank you. Goodbye." He hung up, then turned to Natsumi and Lestrade. "Mrs. Hudson's fine with it."

Lestrade sighed. "Very well. But Sherlock," he said, turning to the consulting detective, "You owe us an explanation first thing in the morning."

Sherlock nodded, clearly not in the mood to argue. "Very well."

Natsumi hesitantly got up, pulling the orange blanket she had been given tighter around her shoulders. "So… should we go?" she asked. "I'm exhausted."

"Of course," John replied. "By the way, Mrs. Hudson- our landlady- has some clothes for you to borrow."

Natsumi gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

John then turned to Sherlock. "You should probably stay inconspicuous for the time being. You have no idea how many haters you've obtained over the past-"

"Actually, I do."

John sighed. "Will you just shut up? Come on, we need to get back to the flat. You too, Natsumi."

_End note: A little note on what the Japanese said in this chapter means, using the all-reliable (NOT!) Google Translate._

Kon'nichiwa, hinata no jūkyo_: Hello, Hinata residence._

E, ē, watashi wa shitte iru_: Yeah, yeah, I know._

Sate, sugu ni anata o sanshō shite kudasai_: Okay, see you soon._


	4. The Argument

_A/N: And here we are! Another chapter. There's a lot of Japanese in this one, courtesy of Google Translate. So here you go!_

4

_The Argument_

As soon as the trio had arrived at 221b Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson was out the door and helping Natsumi up the steps. "Oh you poor dear," she said worriedly. "I thought you might actually prefer to live as close to Sherlock, John, and me as possible, so I decided that cleaning up the attic and making it a bit homier would work better then you living in 221c. Don't worry- the boxes are all cleared to one side, and I had a neighbor bring a spare bed up, so you should be quite cozy."

"Thank you," Natsumi said as Sherlock and John followed the two women up the stairs. While Natsumi and Mrs. Hudson continued up to the attic, John and Sherlock went into their flat. The moment the door was closed, John whirled around to shoot a glare at Sherlock. "You. You have some major explaining to do."

Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his curly black-brown hair. "I know, I know." He motioned to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. "Sit down."

Sherlock had started to open his mouth when, suddenly, he cocked his head to the side, appearing deep in thought. Confused, John asked, "What-"

"Shhh. Hold on," Sherlock replied curtly. From upstairs, John could faintly hear Natsumi talking, presumably on the phone again.

"_Watashi wa, mama wa hontōni wakaranai_."

"I'm really not sure we should be-" John began, but Sherlock held up a finger and continued to listen.

"_Kare wa _shitteita_, mama, kare wa shitteita!"_

"He knew, he knew," Sherlock translated.

"How…?" John asked.

"Spent a bit of time in Japan when I was hunting down Moriarty's men," Sherlock explained. John nodded slightly.

_"__Watashi wa insupekutaresutorēdo o tsutaeru koto ga dekinai, anata wa, watashi ga suru koto wa dekimasen shitte iru!"_

"I can't tell inspector Lestrade, you know I can't," Sherlock said.

"Tell him _what?"_ John asked.

"I'm trying to figure that out."

_"Anata wa dare ga dete hakken shita baai karera wa korosa rerudeshou ne!"_

"You know they'll be killed if anyone finds out."

_"Karera wa, tashika bakada ga, watashi wa mada sorera o kidzukau-"_

"They're idiots, sure, but I still care about them-"

_"Watashi wa karera o kizutsukeru mitakunai."_

"I don't want to see them hurt."

_ "Daremoga wareware wa Keronjin o hoyū shite iru mitsukedashi baai…!"_

Sherlock paused.

"Sherlock?" John asked hesitantly. "What did she say?"

Sherlock said in an uncharacteristically slow manner, "If anyone finds out we're harboring… Keronians…"

John's head began to spin. "What's a Keronian?"

"I have no idea," Sherlock muttered dejectedly.

_ "E e, ē, watashi wa shitte iru. Watashi wa rikai. Mama, anata o aishi."_

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I understand. Love you, Mama," Sherlock translated with a sigh.

John sighed as well and sank back into the chair. "What was that all about?"

"I don't know, but there's something up about this girl," Sherlock said, light suddenly flooding into his eyes. "John, we're back in business!" He waved a hand. "Go away. I need to go to my mind palace."

John sighed. His little lecture would have to wait until later.

_End note: More translations!_

Watashi wa, mama wa hontōni wakaranai_: I'm not really sure, Mama._

_All the other phrases are, of course, translated by Sherlock._


	5. New Experiment

_A/N: And here you go!_

5

_New Experiment_

John woke up to his alarm clock blaring. He groaned and rolled out of bed, hastily pulling on a pair of trousers and switching his t-shirt for an undershirt and jumper. Running a hand through his hair, he walked into the kitchen to find Natsumi already at the stove, cooking. The table was cleared and set, and the appetizing smell of eggs and sausage filled the room.

Without turning around, Natsumi said, "You know your flatmate has human eyeballs in the fridge, right?"

John sighed. "Back at his experiments already, huh? No, I wasn't aware, but I'm used to it. A few years back there was a severed head." He surveyed the kitchen with admiration. "You cleaned up well."

"Didn't dispose of anything- a lot of your cupboards are empty, so I put all the equipment in there."

John gave a small laugh. "How much was there?"

"The whole table was covered. It was ridiculous."

John shook his head. "Already making himself at home again."

"You say it like he was gone."

"He was. Three years. Everyone thought he was dead."

Natsumi turned around at this and tilted her head slightly, almost reminiscent to Sherlock's expression last night when he overheard her conversation with her mother. _That's right,_ he realized. _I have to be on my guard. We know something's up with this girl._

"Oh?" she said, her voice filled with curiosity.

"Long story," John muttered.

Natsumi sighed. "You can tell me, you know. I've seen and lived through a lot of strange things."

"Oh, we can tell," another voice said, and Sherlock came into the kitchen, still in his pants and robe. He looked around. "Where's my equipment?"

"Cupboard," Natsumi said, before freezing. "What do you mean, you can tell?"

John instantly braced himself for an analysis.

Sherlock smirked. "I know you're an athlete who plays multiple sports, judging by the calluses on both hands and how you carry yourself. You have a brother you're very close to, could be just by nature, but it's also possible you lived apart when you were young. Your father is absent from your life but not dead, and most likely no divorce either- there would be more resentment. You manage most of the housework, but share it with someone else- I'm guessing your brother. You're ambidextrous but more commonly use your right hand. You're used to being on your guard, but it's become a part of life so you've loosened up a bit. You're forcing your politeness a bit, possibly because you're uncomfortable with the situation, more likely because you're naturally temperamental. You're a good student but don't often write in your free time- there would be graphite stains on the side of your hand or, if you typed on the computer, your fingers would lay slightly curved. You also live with more people than just your mother and brother- maybe having to do with these 'Keronians'."

Natsumi gaped. "That's amaz-" Then she stiffened. "How do you know about the Keronians?"

John ducked his head sheepishly. "We sort of… listened to your conversation with your mum last night."

Natsumi sucked in a deep breath, looking like she was about to punch him. "_Tōchō surunode shitsurei_," she muttered, before straightening up. "I feel no obligation to tell you about my private life when I know next to nothing about you. Perhaps when I get to know you better." She glanced into the next room, and then a small grin came over her face. "Tell you what. I'll clear some things up for you if I can come see the crime scene."

"What crime scene?" John asked, as a small grin came over Sherlock's face. "Nobody's examining at Her Majesty's Theater since the member of Moriarty's long gone by-"

"Newspaper on the desk. There's an article about a break-in at the National Gallery that's been highlighted and partially cut out. Someone clearly showed interest."

Sherlock's smile grew wider. "Deal."

As Natsumi turned back to her cooking, John pulled Sherlock to the side. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "I thought we couldn't trust this girl!"

"Exactly. Taking her with us will allow us to keep an eye on her. Besides, did you see how she made that analysis? Mediocre, granted- anyone could have seen that eventually-"

John rolled his eyes.

"But she made that interpretation in a split second. Her observational skills show promise."

John stared. "You can't possibly be thinking about training her in-"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking. Think of this as a new experiment."

Ten minutes later, breakfast was on the table. John sat down, mouth watering. Natsumi clearly had some good cooking experience, and everything smelled delicious.

"Aren't you going to eat, Sherlock?" Natsumi asked as she pulled her chair closer to the table.

"No," Sherlock said simply.

"He doesn't eat while he's on a case," John groaned.

Natsumi's eyes narrowed, and she slid back from the table and stood up. "Look here," she said, "I went to a lot of trouble to cook breakfast and it's going to get cold. Besides, you're going to need energy. So shut up, sit down, and eat your eggs."

Sherlock considered her for a moment, then slowly walked to the table and pulled up a chair as Natsumi slammed a plate full of eggs, sausage, and toast in front of him.

John blinked rapidly. He couldn't get Sherlock to eat during a case even after years of persuading, and Natsumi managed to accomplish it in three sentences. He suppressed a laugh as he picked up a piece of toast and spread jam on it. "Annoyed much, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Obviously."


	6. An Intern of Sorts

_A/N: And here we go! Giroro's going to come in in this chapter._

6

_An Internship of Sorts_

_Five months later…_

John hugged his arms around his jacket as he surveyed the scene before him. In the crisp winter air, his breath came out in puffs. In front of him, Natsumi and a friend, Amanda, chucked snowballs at each other in one of the rare parks in London, laughing hysterically.

Next to John, Sherlock said, "Pointless. Can't they have a little dignity? They're both almost twenty-one."

John laughed. "Let them enjoy it."

Suddenly, Sherlock tensed. "We have a shadow," he whispered.

"A member of Moriarty?"

"Not sure. He doesn't seem like he's fixated on us, specifically, but he does show some interest in Natsumi. He's looking away occasionally, but it's clearly very forced. Thanks to the weather, I can't tell whether the blush on his face is due to cold or the fact that he might like her."

"Where is he?"

"Red hair, scar over his right eye- fairly prominent. That's what's making me nervous- the scar. The only way he could get a scar like that was if someone was intentionally trying to harm him. You don't get that from an accident."

John nodded. He knew that; after all, he had been a doctor in the army. Glancing around, he found it wasn't too hard to find the man Sherlock was referring to. His hair wasn't a normal shade of red; it was practically the color of a Crayola marker. "That is a pretty nasty scar." Then he got an idea. "Hang on, I'm joining in."

"To the snowball fight? Petty."

"Not petty. I'm going to let Natsumi know about our little problem." Trying to look nonchalant, John scooped up a snowball and threw it at Natsumi. Of course, having impeccable aim, he hit her right on target. She turned around.

"If I actually knew you were going to do that, I could have avoided it!" she laughed.

"Of course," he replied with a grin as she pelted him back, and a second later Amanda followed suit.

John slowly and strategically made his way towards the girls until he was taking the snowballs full force. At that moment, Amanda held up a hand in a 'time out'.

"Sorry, Natsumi," she said. "I gotta go. Classes."

Natsumi nodded, and Amanda dusted the snow off her coat before racing off. John sighed in both exhaustion and relief. Perfect timing.

"You better be ready," Natsumi laughed after waving goodbye to Amanda.

"Just hang on a sec," John said. Then, in an undertone, "We've got someone watching us. He might be part of Moriarty. Be careful."

Natsumi gave a short nod. "Where?"

"Up the hill behind me. He's by the coffee shop. Brown leather jacket, red hair, scar-"

Natsumi's head whipped in the direction John had described, and stood frozen like that for a few seconds.

"Careful!" John hissed. "Do you want him to see you saw him?"

"Yes," Natsumi replied, face lighting up. And then she was racing up the hill, pink hair flying out behind her, as she ran to the coffee shop and straight into the arms of the redhead.

John, surprised and shocked, glanced nervously at Sherlock. The younger man frantically waved him over, and the doctor jogged up the hill. When he reached Sherlock, the two made their way across the street and to Natsumi and the strange man.

"Oh my god," Natsumi was saying. "When did you get here?!"

"Here or Japan?" the redhead replied, growing redder in the face. That was when John decided the strange man probably liked John and Sherlock's young colleague.

"Both!"

"Japan, three days ago. I got to London about noon."

"I can't believe this! Is the rest of the platoon here?"

"Yeah."

"Wait- platoon?" John asked.

Natsumi nodded. "Yeah, he's in the army too."

"You're a soldier?" the man asked.

John nodded. "Captain John Watson." Despite his uncertainty about this man, Natsumi seemed to be comfortable around him, so he saluted.

The man returned the military salutation. "Second Lieutenant Giroro."

Natsumi's jaw dropped. "You didn't tell me you got promoted!"

"Several times." He shot her a grin.

"Forgive me for asking, but… are you two dating?" John asked after a short pause.

"If I recall correctly, _you _don't appreciate people asking that about _us_," Sherlock muttered, and John shot him a warning look.

Giroro and Natsumi both blushed profusely. "No," Natsumi laughed. "I think I would have mentioned if I had a boyfriend, considering we've been flatmates for almost half a year."

Giroro stiffened. "You live with them?" he asked, his voice laced with jealousy.

Natsumi nodded, then paused as if she had changed her mind. "I live in the attic above them- our landlady turned it into a room for me- but I do share their living room and kitchen."

Giroro nodded in a relieved way and Natsumi's eyes narrowed, the way they often did when she figured something out that she wasn't sure how to respond to (any other conclusions resulted in her eyes lighting up in much the same way Sherlock's did).

"So…" Giroro asked, "You said _our_ landlady, like you pay her too. Do you have a job or something?"

Natsumi laughed and glanced over at Sherlock. "Of a sorts," she said.

"What do you mean by-"

At that moment Sherlock's phone beeped. "New text, let me check that," he said. Everyone grew quiet as he read the text, then his eyes lit up.

"Oh no," John said nervously, quite aware of what was going to happen.

"Finally! We've got a murder not a mile from here. Brilliant timing!"

Natsumi gave a small grin- despite not being as naturally enthusiastic about a case as Sherlock was, she still took a thrill in the chase- and said, "Giroro, you're about to find out what I do." She and Sherlock took off.

Giroro looked confused, but dashed after the two detectives, John following behind him with a sigh.

When they got to the crime scene- an alleyway, so cliché- they immediately ran into Anderson and Donovan. "Freak," Donovan greeted Sherlock, then turned to Natsumi. "Mini-freak."

"Good to see you too, Sergeant Donovan," Natsumi muttered back, then stepped under the police tape.

"Wait. What's going on?" Giroro asked.

Donovan's eyes narrowed. "Who's this?" she asked.

"A friend," Natsumi said, "who I'm hoping you'll _let in_," she added as Anderson blocked Giroro from going under the police tape.

Anderson frowned. "He's not in the Yard or part of your little 'team'."

"You let in John when he first met me," Sherlock said.

"Temporary lapse of judgement," Anderson scoffed.

John felt a prick of irritation but ignored it as Natsumi pushed Anderson to the side- not so gently- and held up the tape for Giroro.

"Will you please explain what's going on?" Giroro asked as they walked down the alleyway.

Natsumi gave a mysterious smile. "All in good time." She strode confidently towards the dead body at the end of the alleyway, then kneeled by it before looking up. "Sherlock?"

"You've trained long enough. Besides, I'm assuming it might be fun to show off a bit in front of your friend."

John groaned as a smug smile grew on Natsumi's face, then she turned to examine the body before beginning to analyze rapidly.

"This man's in his late fourties. Probably a low-paying office job- he's wearing a business suit, but it's fairly low-quality and extremely rumpled. Clean ring on his finger- happy marriage, but it looks fairly new- he's been married for probably two to three years." She considered the corpse for a moment, then pulled out a wallet from his pocket- empty of cash and credit cards, but containing a family picture. After examining it, she continued, "He has no children with his current wife, but he's been married before and has three children from that previous marriage- two girls and a boy. One of the girls is in college, the other two children are probably early high school. He also has a fairly large, enthusiastic dog, probably a labradoodle." Natsumi slipped the wallet back in the victim's pocket and returned to her analysis. "At first glance, it appeared he was killed with a bullet to the head, but there's not much blood- possibly because the killer cleaned the wound, more likely because he was killed because of some kind of poison and shot in the head afterwards." She looked up. "Did I miss anything?"

Sherlock smiled. "Good, but look more carefully and you can see signs of how he was poisoned."

John saw Giroro go slack-jawed out of the corner of his eye, while Natsumi examined the corpse again. Finally, she said, "Nitrobenzene. The skin's turned grey and what little blood is around the bullet wound is very dark and clotted. Stomach seems inflamed, and when I got closer the area where his organs were smelled slightly of bitter almonds."

Sherlock gave a nod of approval. "Very good."

Giroro was still staring at Natsumi. "How did you _do_ that?"

Natsumi smirked. "Lots of practice."

Giroro faltered. "What are you, exactly?"

Natsumi took a deep breath. "World's second consulting detective. Sherlock's the first."

Giroro let out a forced "Whew." Then, "Well, I guess I sort of saw that coming."

John laughed. "Not sure what to think?"

"Exactly."

"Life's just going to get weirder. You might want to get used to it."

Giroro glanced at Natsumi with a small smile. "I think I can do that."

At that point Natsumi turned to Sherlock. "Can you take things from here?"

"Of course. Why?"

Natsumi simply laughed. "Giroro… you love me, don't you?"

Giroro gaped. "H-how long have you…?"

Natsumi smirked. "Didn't take me too long once I started talking to you earlier."

Giroro gave a heavy sigh, walked over to Natsumi, and knelt down next to her. "I have loved you since the day I met you. You are the most amazing girl in the universe, and I could never let you go." He smiled… and then kissed her quite tenderly. A small smile crossed Natsumi's face, and she wrapped her arms around him.

After several awkward seconds, when they pulled away from each other, John gave a nervous laugh. "Um…"

Natsumi smiled in return. "Giroro… maybe we should take this elsewhere. I think it's a bit awkward for Sherlock and John."

"Please do," Sherlock said sternly, but John knew that he was smiling inside.

_End note: And there you go! I know I got Giroro and Natsumi together fairly quick, but since this is sort of from John's perspective, and because I have so many GiroNatsu stories, I wanted to focus more on Johnlock._


End file.
